Garden Sunset
by pedal
Summary: Based on the manga, where Miki was originally in love with Utena, not Anthy. A short ficlet that's subtle and easy to take in. Miki is in the music room just before his first Rose Bride duel when he gets a surprisingly expected visitor.


Garden Sunset

Written: March 2004  
Disclaimer: Utena belongs to... not me?  
Author's Note: Sweet! I wrote this all at school during a study period in Japanese class.  
Garden Sunset  
By Pedal

I'm waiting less than patiently in the music room. I haven't turned the lights on; I never do that. It ruins the music. That's what sunlight is about. There's no Sunlit Garden if the school's light wrecks the sun. Small, almost beads of sweat appear on my face and the back of my neck. My hair's too long. I need to cut it. She's not coming, is she?

It's too warm. The windows should be open.

The door moves, but I don't look up. It's probably Nanami or Saonji or someone I could care less to speak with. Touga wouldn't bother me, but I don't feel like being completely and utterly disturbed by what he would have to say to me. What I really need is some water. There's probably some in here. I haven't checked. What I really need is she, but she's not coming.

A hand on the piano appears, with a sleeve. A long sleeve means a boy. It's not her. I keep playing, but stop once I hear myself break a note. I haven't been able to play all day, but they can never tell. The footsteps I've been hearing move to behind me. A strand of hair falls on my frozen hands, which are quite warm but will not move.

Pink. The hair is pink in the light, glowing orange with the tones of the falling sun. "Miss... Miss Utena?" She snatched up what she had leaned over me to get: the music I had been playing and not looking at.

Off-handedly, flipping carefully through the pages she did everyday, she told me in a relatively bored voice, "I don't need to tell you everyday, do I, Mickey? Forget about the Miss Utena stuff." Only her eyes could see those pages without my concern. I felt at ease when she held the small notebook, but no one else.

Miss. Oh. Yes, she wanted me to address her as a casual acquaintance. We were quite casual, weren't we... "Right. I apologize, Mi-Utena."

At some point I had shut my eyes. I must've; it's dark. I wish it weren't so warm. At the same time, part of me wishes it were warmer. I don't get that. How is it that I still feel so tired, so impatient, so sick, and so hot?

I wipe the mass of blue bangs away from my eyes. They're sticking up oddly now, I'll bet. I don't care. She doesn't care; she just smiles when she sees me out of the corner of her eyes. When did I open my eyes? When did my hands decide to move again? Why did my body feel the need to set my face on fire whenever I see her?

Sliding my hand up and down the thighs of my uniform trousers, I set my fingers over the keys of the piano again. The song I play is flawless, and I hate myself for it. It doesn't have any feeling. I stop. "Mickey?" She can't tell.

"What's wrong? The way your playing today, it's so..."

Forced.

She can tell.

"Miss Utena."

Oh. I did it again.

"Miki."

I wince at the sound of my given name. Wow, that's how foolish I sound? "Utena."

"Thank you, Mickey. Now what's up?"

Odd. I hadn't really heard anyone call her just Utena besides that brown-haired girl who seems to follow her. Wakaba?

'What's up?' No one speaks to me like this. My heart makes an erratic jump to the middle of my throat. And I thought I was uncomfortable before. I want to run away. I want to stay and play my soul out, but...

"Nothing is bothering me all that terribly. It's very warm, don't you think?" I say, accidentally creating the illusion that I'm making the stupid attempt to lead away from her question. I feel as though I should care more, but make no action to.

"Oh yeah? Too hot to play?"

A grateful smile crosses my face, and I take a slow blink. "Yes. It is."

"Well then, do you want to join me in a thrilling walk outside? There's a good breeze. Of course, you could just open the windows in here, but that'd be too easy."

"Yes, it would be." I begin playing again, not even listening to the music I'm releasing from the piano.

"You must be cooling off. So how about it, Mickey?"

I stop playing before the song is over, yet the note I end on is very sweet. "I'd love to."


End file.
